


I Will Drink Life to the Lees

by Persiflage



Series: Bondkink Fics [35]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: 00M, Action/Adventure, Bond Being Bond, Cold War, Espionage, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M is a BAMF, M was a Double-0, Mission Fic, Older Woman/Younger Man, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fic, Russian Setting, Secret Intelligence Service | MI6, Teaching, mentoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:24:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Pre-Canon) Before she was M, she was an agent in her own right, and damn good too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenbirds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenbirds/gifts).



> Written for greenbirds Yuletide prompt (though, alas, not written in a timely enough manner *for* Yuletide!). Greenbirds requested _Tell me something interesting about M (girl type), or write something plotty and action-filled, or both. What was it like for her when she took over from the male M? What was her early relationship with James like? Who was she before she was She Who Must Be Obeyed?_  
>  Skyfall canon has it that Dench!M worked as Head of Station H (Hong Kong) from 1986 – 1997, and my fanon is that she was a Double-0 agent up until 1986, and then became M some time after 1997.  
> Spoilers: None (Vague reference to Casino Royale)  
> Disclaimer: Nope, definitely still not mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is taken from Tennyson's _Ulysses_. (Between _Skyfall_ and _Cranford_ I'm developing a taste for Dame Judi reading/reciting Tennyson!)

**Moscow, 1985**

James Bond is twenty-two and in a state of high excitement, though no one who caught sight of him sitting in a corner of the underground bar off Tverskaya would know it. His blue eyes are fixed on the entrance to the bar through which he is waiting for a Double-0 agent to come. This will be his first occasion of working with such an elite MI6 agent, one who's licensed to kill, even though he's already been working for the Service for five years.

He knows nothing about the agent, except that his codename is 007, but he's eager for the meeting since he hopes to one day be a Double-0 agent himself: it's the goal of every agent who works for Six.

He sips at his drink while he waits, trying to decide as each man enters the bar if they're the one for whom he's waiting. When a demure-looking woman of about forty who barely tops five feet comes in, he gives her no more than a cursory glance before switching his attention back to the man who's entered just behind her. He's vaguely aware that the woman has paused at the bar to order a drink, but he pays her no more attention until she approaches his table, at which point he directs an irritated scowl at her.

She sits down and quietly gives him the Russian code phrase that he'd been given to prove the identity of 007. 

He just manages not to gape at her, but it's a close call. He repeats back to her the response to her phrase, then gives her a suspicious look. "Are you really 007?" he asks.

She gives him an unsmiling look which nevertheless manages to convey a hint of approval for the question, and he feels disconcerted.

"James Bond was born to a Scottish father, Andrew, who was an engineer, and a Swiss mother, Monique Delacroix, twenty-two years ago. He lived overseas as a boy, and is fluent in French and German. He also lived in Russia for a period. His parents were killed in a skiing accident when he was eleven, after which he was brought up by his aunt Charmiane." She takes a mouthful of vodka and asks, "Shall I go on?"

"No, thank you."

"Good. To business, then."

They sit there for an hour while she instructs him in the role he's to play in the operation she has planned for the following evening. It's a classic sting operation with which they hope to entrap their mark – a British Secret Service man who's been betraying secrets to the Russians for at least six months.

"I'll see you tomorrow at the RV at twenty hundred hours then, Bond. And don't be late."

"Yes ma'am." He watches her leave with a mingled sense of amazement and curiosity: she's a diminutive woman, yet she spoke to him with complete authority. He realises abruptly that he's totally aroused by his encounter with her, and he quickly slips out of the bar to follow her.

She walks at a steady pace, apparently oblivious to everyone else on the street, which he finds worrying: a Double-0 agent ought, surely, to be more alert than anyone else, he thinks.

Then he turns a corner and finds himself tripping over to sprawl in the dirty snow of an alleyway. Before he can either roll over or gather his wits, someone is straddling his body and patting him down in a very brisk and professional manner. He's disarmed in moments and feels a hot rush of shame at being caught out in such a manner.

"Really, Bond, if you're going to survive in this business, you're going to have to do much better than that at tailing people."

Most of his shame is swallowed by an enormous sense of relief at hearing 007's voice, then his arousal returns as he realises she's still straddling his body as he lies beneath her.

She gets up and he rolls onto his back to look up at her. The light in the alley is dim, and he wonders if she knows how hard he is.

"Get up Bond," she orders in a firm, no-nonsense tone that just makes him want her more.

He obeys and she holds out his weapons: his Service-issue handgun and the far-from-standard-issue dirk of his father's that he carries in a sheath strapped to his ankle. 

"Why were you following me?" she asks in a voice that makes it clear that she expects to be told the truth.

"I wanted to know more about you," he says quietly. "I didn't even know there were any female Double-0 agents."

She gives an unladylike snort. "That's because we're a very rare breed. I'm only the second one in the whole history of the Service." She looks at him for a long moment, then says, "It's too bloody cold to be standing here having this conversation. I've no especial desire to freeze my tits off." He chokes back laughter at this remark. "We're going back to your flat."

"Why not yours?" he asks boldly.

"Security," she says, staring hard at him.

He feels himself beginning to blush and wonders if she knows how much of a turn-on her bossy, schoolmistress-y tone is for him. Somehow, he wouldn't be surprised if she knows exactly what effect she's having on him. 

She flags down a taxi and gives Bond's Pushkin Square address to the driver: he is not so naïve as to ask how she knows it – he's beginning to suspect there's very little about him that she doesn't know. This idea is strengthened by the way she speaks to him with such easy familiarity, as if she's known him for years instead of having just met him less than an hour ago. He doubts that this manner is simply the result of her studying his file, and his initial curiosity is strengthened in consequence.

They arrive quickly at Bond's flat in a nondescript building that looks like so many others in Russia's capital city. Once inside she allows him to precede her up the stairs and he's impressed that she easily keeps up with his long-legged stride despite the fact that he's nearly a foot taller than her.

He lets them into the flat and she immediately crosses to the window and peers down at the street while he switches on the heater, then pours them both a drink before peeling off his heavy overcoat.

He carries their drinks over to the window and she accepts a glass from him. They drink the fiery liquor standing by the window, 007 watching the street while Bond watches her profile from the corner of his eye. He is still achingly hard and when he turns to fetch them both a refill he deliberately allows himself to brush against her in an apparently accidental manner.

007 catches hold of his wrist and tugs his body back against hers. "Not very subtle, Bond," she says. "You really are going to have to do better than this if you want to make Double-0 status."

His cock is throbbing and his heart is thumping at this point. "Show me, then," he says, his tone challenging, even if his voice is husky with desire.

"Why should I bother?" she demands, challenge in her own tone. "Given your behaviour tonight, you'll be lucky to survive to the end of the year."

He's tempted to snarl, to shove her against the wall and use his greater height in an attempt to intimidate her, but then he remembers how she sent him sprawling in the snow, and decides that she could probably use his superior height against him. He realises, belatedly, that she has the advantage, too, in knowing that he's aroused and hard for her. Somehow he doubts that this diminutive Double-0 agent would hesitate to use such knowledge against him.

He steps back from her, bows his head, and asks in a meek voice, "Please, ma'am, I want to survive. I want to learn everything I can from you."

He wonders if he is imagining the sharp intake of breath from her, but when he looks up she's giving him a steely blue-eyed stare that gives away nothing of her feelings.

"Very well, Bond. Have you got any tea?" He nods. "Then make us some and I'll try to teach you the art of subtlety."

As Bond goes into the tiny kitchenette to make them some tea, 007 takes a deep breath and tries to calm the flutters of arousal in her belly. When the Head of Station S had told her that she'd be working with Bond on this job she had immediately wondered if he would remember her. She'd been responsible for his initial recruitment into the Service: he'd been fifteen and already tall for his age. He was also getting into trouble over girls, and it now appeared that he still hadn't learnt any self-control in such matters.

She moves away from the window finally and sheds her overcoat as Bond returns with their tea. His posture is still on the submissive side, and she feels another surge of arousal as he pours the tea and adds milk to hers at her direction.

"In this job brute strength and taking someone by surprise will only get you so far," she tells him as he settles onto the sofa across from the armchair she's chosen. "If you want to survive and be good at your job, then you need to be subtle, cunning, and completely ruthless. You need to pay attention at all times: the ability to observe and assess is a vital component of our work. You have to know how to read people, both their body language and their emotional state, and use it to your benefit. You should also be careful about how much you give away, or the enemy will take advantage of the knowledge they gain of you and use it to trip you up if they can.

He gives her a rueful smile over the top of his teacup, acknowledging the hit.

"If you want to show a woman that you're interested in her sexually, there are more subtle ways of doing so than rubbing your crotch against her body, and most women will prefer the understated approach, especially if they don't already know you. Seducing someone is an acceptable way to obtain information in this job, but you don't want to earn yourself a reputation as a brute. Understand?" 

"Yes ma'am."

"Mmm. We'll see." She finishes her tea, then sets down her cup and moves across to sit beside him on the sofa. "Do you know anything about female erogenous zones?"

He looks embarrassed. "Not really."

"Do you know what an erogenous zone is?"

"An area of the body which causes pleasure when stimulated."

"Good. Women have some obvious erogenous zones: the breasts and genitals, for example. But we also have a number of less obvious zones: the neck is a good example, as is the area behind the knee, and the scalp. Also the lips." 

She leans towards him and puts a hand to the back of his neck, then kisses him. Immediately he tries to push his tongue into her mouth, but she tightens her grip on the back of his neck and pulls him back again. "Lips, Bond," she says sternly. "Focus on my lips, first." He obeys, and she gradually relaxes her hold on him as she feels herself growing wet. She has to strangle her urge to moan against his mouth, but she knows that this evening isn't going to end without them having sex.

007-007-007

Bond has no idea how he manages to control himself while 007 is instructing him: he suspects it's fear that she'll walk out on him that keeps him from doing anything other than what she instructs him to do. He's aware that she's a fair bit older than himself, but that doesn't bother him because she is also powerful and sexy, an alluring combination.

An hour has passed since they entered his flat and she's instructed him on where and how to touch her with his hands and his mouth with regard to her mouth, her knees, her neck and her wrists, before she finally pulls away, then gets to her feet. 

"Bedroom," she says, and he almost comes right there and then he's so wound up.

Instead he stumbles to his feet, then takes her wrist in a light clasp and guides her to his bedroom. She undresses him first, and he hears her soft murmur of approval when she finally release his straining erection from his trousers.

"Well, well, aren't you a big boy?" 

To his relief she doesn't manhandle him too much: he doesn’t want his first act to be ejaculating all over her hands. Instead, she turns her back on him and says softly, "Zip please, James."

He finds himself oddly moved by her use of his first name; he's been 'Bond' all evening until now. He unzips her dress, and kisses the back of her neck, then down her spine before easing the dress off her. When she turns he sees she's wearing a matching set of ivory silk knickers and bra; he helps her out of both before she takes his hand and guides him down onto the bed.

He resumes kissing her, trying to use the things she's taught him this evening to good effect, even though it's obvious that she's already willing to have sex with him. She pulls him down over her body, and she's the one who guides his engorged prick to her pussy with a mutter of "Fuck me." 

He slowly eases his cock into her, giving her time to adjust to his size: she's hot and wet, and moving slowly isn't the easiest thing for him to do when he's burning with desire. He'd much sooner slam into her and then fuck her hard, but he knows that he has to show her that her lessons this evening haven't been wasted.

When he does begin to thrust, her muscles tighten around him and she comes quickly. “Don’t stop,” she orders him, rather breathlessly he notices, and he huffs out a laugh.

"No chance," he assures her.

For Bond it's the best sex he's ever had, and he's quite convinced that 007 is the reason it's so good, but he worries that it's just a fluke. 

Afterwards they lie curled together under the covers and she talks about the best moments to ask questions of someone he's seducing. When she says 'someone' for the second time, he asks, "Don't you mean 'some woman'?"

Her eyebrow arches upwards and she gives a minute shake of the head. "You may have to seduce men on occasion, too."

He gives her a horrified look. "Men?! I'm not fucking some man. I'm no faggot."

"James, calm down. I didn't say anything about fucking men, I said seduce. There's a difference and you need to learn it: a seduction doesn't always lead to sex." He relaxes back against the pillows. "I take it you've never tried it the other way, then, even when you were at boarding school?" she asks as she curls her hand around his half erect cock.

"No," he says vigorously.

"Weren't you ever curious?"

He turns his head on the pillow and looks at her. "No. Why do you ask?"

She smirks. "Well, just as some men find it a turn-on to watch two women fucking, some women find it a turn-on to watch two guys fuck."

"And you're one of them?" he asks, suddenly sure he's right.

"Mmm. Not all men, but some of them, yes."

"Oh." He's nonplussed by this information.

"I also," she says in a more confidential tone as she shifts to straddle his thighs, "quite often enjoy fucking men up the arse myself."

He gapes up at her as she lifts herself up and begins easing herself down onto his stiffened prick. "Christ!"

She begins to ride him and he clutches her hips to hold her steady while he tries to imagine what it might be like to take a dildo, or even a real cock, up his arse. A few minutes ago the idea had appalled him, but now he's actually considering it, or at least, considering the possibility of 007 fucking his arse. She is, he decides, a very dangerous woman, but the realisation excites him. The women he's had in his bed over the last few years have been anything but dangerous, in fact, tame would be the more appropriate word to describe his previous conquests.

007-007-007

007 stays the night, but they don't fuck again until she wakes him around dawn, when she goes down on him and sucks his cock until he's ready to explode. However, she releases his prick before he can come and lets him slip it into her slick pussy instead.

She refuses to stay to have breakfast with him; sex is followed by her taking a quick solo bath, then drinking a cup of strong black coffee.

"When can I see you again?" he asks as she gets ready to leave.

"At twenty hundred hours at the RV. And if you're a good boy tonight, then we'll have a late supper together back here, and I'll give you some more lessons." She kisses him quick and hard on the mouth. "Just go about your usual routine today, and I'll see you tonight."

With that she lets herself out of his flat and disappears into the early morning bustle.

007-007-007


	2. Chapter 2

She heads back to her own flat on Leningradsky Prospekt at a brisk pace that belies the ache in her muscles: Bond, it turns out, is a very fast learner, as well as a very enjoyable fuck. Moreover, she had seen for herself that despite his initially horrified response to the idea of sex with another man, he'd later grown interested at least to a limited extent. The thought of taking him up his perfectly formed arse makes her wet and as soon as she gets home she takes half an hour for herself so that she can have a good wank.

She thinks of Pietr, the Russian man who's been her usual bed partner whenever she's been posted to Moscow, and she knows that she would enjoy watching James with Pietr: two such handsome men fucking each other would definitely be a major turn-on. She groans as images of the pair fill her head, and her pussy spasms around the dildo which she'd shoved into herself a little while ago.

Afterwards, she bathes again and changes into fresh clothes, then she has some toast and more coffee, before she sets out for a meeting with Jenkins, the Head of Station S, who is one of the few men within the Service who treats her just like any other Double-0 agent instead of making a big fuss of the fact that she's a woman. 007 takes a roundabout route, as always, pausing occasionally or doubling back to ensure she doesn't have any watchers on her tail. One of her pauses is timed to allow her to grab some _pelmini_ , a bowl of delicious little parcels of thin dough filled with meat and cabbage, which she finds satisfying and which no one outside of Russia seems to be capable of making.

She returns home at two o'clock following her meeting with Jenkins and decides to go to bed for a few hours sleep prior to the night's operation. She has pleasant dreams about Bond and Pietr, and wakes with a smile on her face. After a eating a couple of slices of toast and an apple, she drinks a large mug of strong black coffee, then she begins to prepare for the op: she cleans and loads her weapon, then dresses carefully in multiple layers of slate grey clothes. She has no idea how long she may need to hang around for tonight, and she prefers not to risk either hypothermia or frost bite.

She leaves her flat two and a half hours before she's due to meet Bond at the RV, and once again spends time 'dry cleaning', which is the American service's nickname for the vital process of ensuring that an agent doesn't have a tail. 

By the time 007 arrives at the RV, five minutes ahead of schedule, she's confident that she's lost the Russian agent who'd been following her, and that she hasn't picked up another watcher in his place.

"Bond." Her greeting is cool and professional when he walks out of the shadows to join her, and he gives her a nod of greeting knowing that he cannot use her Double-0 number out here. She makes a mental note to give him her alias later, but for now they merely exchange a few words to confirm that the mark is where he should be, then Bond sets off to meet him, while 007 follows a few minutes after.

007-007-007

Bond sets off towards the same underground bar where he and 007 met last night. George Henderson has arranged to meet Bond there through an intermediary of 007's, though Henderson doesn't know that fact. Bond is posing as a disgruntled member of the British Secret Service who's considering 'turning' and becoming a double agent for the Russians. His background cover has been thoroughly prepared by M, the head of the Service back in London, and Jenkins, the Head of Station S here in Moscow, and Jenkins has confirmed to Bond that Henderson has investigated the cover, accepted it as legitimate, and advised his Russian superior that Bond is worth taking seriously. In order to encourage Henderson's cooperation, Bond has brought a faked-up file with him which Jenkins has created for him to hand over. 

Bond's stride turns into a slouch in the street before he reaches his destination and when he enters the bar he is, he hopes, the epitome of a disillusioned agent who is desperate for better rewards. He spots Henderson sitting at a table in the corner which gives him a clear view of anyone entering the bar, and he makes his way across to the older man with his shoulders hunched and his hands stuffed into his coat pockets.

The older man gives him a wary look as he stops beside his table, so Bond repeats the Russian code phrase that he's been given to identify himself to Henderson, who nods to the chair opposite him. Bond seats himself and accepts Henderson's offer of a cup of tea, then eases the folder from the inside pocket of his overcoat.

"This is the item I promised you," he tells Henderson. 

"Thank you." They're speaking in English as it's safer than using Russian. He takes the file from Bond and quickly skims through its contents, then gives a satisfied nod. "This is everything that you promised it would be."

"Does that mean I'm in?" Bond asks.

"With one proviso. You are to meet Comrade Karloff, and if he likes the look of you, then you'll be in."

"And if he doesn't?" Bond is sure that if Karloff doesn't like him, he'll end up dead. 

"Then you and I will have no further contact, except in an official way."

"Very well." Bond knows he can do nothing except acquiesce to this – for the plan which 007 has in place to work, he mustn't give Henderson any reason to doubt him. "When?"

"Tonight." Henderson checks his watch. "If we leave now, we'll be there on time."

Bond gets to his feet as Henderson tucks the file into his own coat pocket, then stands. Bond allows Henderson to lead the way out of the bar, and is careful not to look over to where he knows 007 is waiting for them. He lifts his left hand and taps his ear twice as he turns to follow Henderson to his car, and hopes that 007 has seen the signal and will follow in the car she's got parked nearby.

An hour later Henderson pulls up outside an office block on the outskirts of the city, and the pair exit the car and cross the car park to a side door. Bond manages a swift glance behind him after Henderson goes around the corner of the building and he sees a car's headlights flick off, then on again. He breathes a soft sigh of relief at 007's indication of her presence, then he catches Henderson up and follows him into the office building.

007-007-007

When 007 sees Bond leaving the bar with Henderson and he gives her the signal asking her to follow him, she's annoyed: her carefully crafted plan is already falling to pieces, and it's putting Bond in danger in a way that she's not entirely sure he's prepared for. There's nothing that she can do, however, except climb into her car and follow Henderson, and hope she can both get Bond out, and deal with Henderson in the manner prescribed by M before she left London.

She keeps her car a careful distance behind Henderson, and she hopes that the other man is too focused on wherever he's going to worry too much about the possibility of being followed. When they arrive at an indistinguishable office building on the city's outskirts she quickly finds a place to park where she can keep Bond and Henderson in view until they enter the building. She sees Bond glance behind him as Henderson goes around the corner and quickly flicks off her headlights, then turns them back on again so that he'll know she's here. 

As soon as the pair have entered the building she gets out her car phone and rings Jenkins, whom she knows will be in the office tonight until she rings to say the job's done. She explains to him what's happened and gives him the address of the building Bond and Henderson have entered. Within minutes he reports that it's registered to a Comrade Karloff whom he knows to be Henderson's immediate superior within the KGB's hierarchy.

"He must have demanded a meeting with Bond," 007 says immediately. "Damn, I should have thought of that possibility."

"You can't think of everything, 007," Jenkins says soothingly. "You know what Moltke the Elder always said."

"Yes, no plan survives first contact with the enemy."

"Something along those lines," agrees Jenkins with a hint of humour in his voice. "What are you going to do?"

"Hope that Bond survives his meeting with Karloff, then wait for Henderson and Bond to leave before I complete my mission. I daren't go in after them because I've no idea how many people are inside."

"Very well. I'll wait for you call. Good luck."

"Thank you sir."

007 hangs up, then settles back into her seat and hopes that the car heater will keep her from freezing before Bond and Henderson return. She checks her watch and notes that it's after nine o'clock now, She wonders what Karloff is like, and if Bond's a sufficiently good actor to convince the Comrade that he's on the level. This operation has taken weeks to set up and she isn't keen to see Six's hard work wasted for the sake of a young agent who's probably out of his depth.

Forty-five minutes crawl by, and 007's nearly finished her flask of vodka-laced coffee, which she brought with her to fight the cold, when Bond and Henderson reappear. She leans forward, peering through the misted-up windscreen as she watches the pair walk to Henderson's car. As far as she can discern, Bond is in one piece – he's not limping, nor holding himself awkwardly, so she assumes that he's passed Karloff's examination, whatever form it's taken. She feels a sense of relief on both a professional and personal level; she believes Bond has the potential to become an excellent Double-0 agent given time, training and experience, and she'd hate to see that potential wasted. At the same time, she likes him and wants to get to know him much better.

She follows Henderson's car back into the city centre, then on towards the quarter where Bond's flat is situated, and she realises that Bond has persuaded the older man to return to the original plan. She must remember to thank him properly for that particular wrinkle.

007-007-007

An hour and a half later Henderson's been taken care of, and Bond and 007 are enjoying a very nice Krug after their supper. 

"You did a very good job tonight, Bond," she tells him and he gives her a satisfied smile.

"Thank you." He leans over to kiss her and seems delighted when she wraps an arm around his neck to hold him steady as she uses her tongue to open his mouth. He's so busy kissing her that it takes him a few moments to register that she's using her other hand to ease his erect cock free of his trousers, then she gives the base a squeeze and he starts with surprise.

"You deserve a special treat," she tells him, "so I'm going to suck you off, and then I'm going to introduce you to the pleasures of getting your arse fucked."

"Christ, Emma!" 

She's not sure whether it's the promise of a blow job, or the idea of taking it up the arse that elicits his exclamation, but it doesn’t really matter – she's determined that he's going to enjoy himself, and she knows she will get pleasure from fucking him. 

007-007-007

They're both sleeping soundly when a hand touches Bond's arm that doesn’t belong to 007. He lurches up, waking the agent, and grabbing his gun from under the pillow, but a voice speaks softly in the dark room, "All I ask is a tall ship."

"And a star to steer her by," replies 007. "Put the light on, James."

He obeys, feeling bewildered, and sees Max Jenkins, a man of medium height with curly brown hair and grey-blue eyes, standing beside the bed. "What's going on?"

"We've got trouble," the man says. "The Russians have found Henderson's body and Karloff is screaming blue murder."

"Fuck!" 007's already climbing out of bed, apparently uncaring that Jenkins as well as Bond is getting an eyeful. "Get dressed Bond," she says sternly. "We need to get out of here." 

"I'll wait for you in the sitting room," Jenkins says.

007's already hastily pulling on her clothes, so Bond scrambles out of bed too. "Where are we going?" he asks.

"London, if we can get there," she says. "I don't doubt Max will help us as much as he's able."

They're dressed and Bond's shoved his things into his bag within five minutes of Jenkins waking them.

"007 your things are in my car, downstairs. I went to your flat first." She nods her understanding, and Bond marvels again at how unfazed she seems by the whole situation. "I've booked you both tickets for the Kraznaya Stella, the Red Arrow, which leaves at twenty-three fifty-five hours." He hands 007 some tickets, and a sheaf of papers. "Those are your papers. You'll be taking the train as far as Leningrad, where you'll be met at the station by Agent 836 and taken to a safe house – I'll give you the code phrase we've agreed in a moment. From Leningrad you'll drive north to the Finnish border where you'll be met in the woods near Vyborg, and there'll be a car there which you can drive on to Helsinki. All being well, you'll then get a flight back to London from Helsinki."

She nods, then looks at Bond. "Ready?" 

He nods, and she gestures for Jenkins to follow her downstairs and Bond brings up the rear. 007 sits in the passenger seat, her bag on her lap, while Bond climbs into the back, and they both keep watch as Jenkins drives them to Leningradsky Station. To Bond's intense relief they don't have too long to wait at the station before the train pulls out; the men checking their tickets and paperwork hadn't made any fuss about either, so Jenkins' team must be good at forgery.

They're in a first class compartment which on a Russian train doesn't mean much in the way of luxury, unlike at home. 007 suggests they lie together on one of the benches to share their warmth, and Bond agrees: he's too nervous to consider doing anything of a sexual nature, and 007's all business, so they simply wrap themselves in a couple of blankets provided by Jenkins, and doze as the train carries them from Moscow to Leningrad.

007-007-007

Agent 836, a tall blond-haired, blue-eye man, meets them off the train with the pre-arranged code phrase, and an old Volga car. He ushers them into it and drives them, with the minimum of fuss or conversation, to a house on the northern outskirts of the city.

"You'll be leaving about eighteen hundred hours," he tells them. "In the meantime, get as much sleep as you can. I'll keep watch for you."

"Thanks," 007 says, accepting the agent's taciturnity as normal. She leads the way upstairs, and Bond follows close behind. "We might as well share a room," she tells him, and he nods. She notes that he looks very tense and she wonders if this is the first time he's ever had to flee for his life. 

They sets their bags down and 007 pulls Bond to her, kissing him hard. "Relax, James." She tugs him across to the bed and they lie down together; it doesn't take her long to get Bond aroused and once he is she straddles him.

"You want to do this now?" he asks, even as she begins unfastening his trousers.

"You don't?" she asks. "If you ever become a Double-0 agent, you'll soon discover that the fight-or-flight instinct is usually combined with another, equally primal instinct." She smirks down at him. "I call it the fight, flight, or fuck instinct."

He chuckles, then moans as she eases him free. "Do you think I will?" he asks, gasping a little. "Become a Double-0, I mean." 

"You have plenty of potential, Bond." 

007-007-007

**London, 2006**

James Bond has been summoned to meet the newly-appointed Head of MI6, the woman who's taking over from the now-retired Sir Miles Messervy. The new M is apparently some number-crunching bird from Accounting: her appointment is not viewed favourably by most of the agents, particularly the Double-0 section. Bond doesn’t expect to have much to do with her since he's not a Double-0 and it's usually Bill Tanner, the Chief of Staff, who hands out the assignments for those lowly agents who don't have Double-0 status.

He walks into the outer office and Tanner gives him a friendly nod. "Go straight in, James," he says, "she's waiting for you."

Bond checks his watch, and Tanner chuckles quietly. "It's all right, you're not late."

Bond gives him a nod, tweaks the knot of his tie, then gives a brief rap on the door before entering the office. He stops dead on the other side, staring in disbelief at the diminutive woman seated at the desk that dominates the room. She's twenty years older (although she doesn't look it), and her hair's grey now, but it's unmistakably the woman who was code-named 007 back in Moscow.

She stares at him, one eyebrow raised enquiringly, then says, "Take a seat, Mr Bond."

 _Mr Bond!_ he thinks disbelievingly. He can still recall the caress in her voice when she called him 'James' after fucking him nearly senseless in Moscow and Leningrad, and now she's talking to him as if they've only just met. 

He crosses to the chair in front of her desk and sits down, staring hard at her, but she doesn't flinch.

"I've been looking at your reports, Mr Bond, and those from both Mr Tanner and your immediate superior, Mr – " She pauses and glances down at the file in front of her, "Harrison. Tanner and Harrison both speak very highly of your work, so I'm considering giving you Double-0 status. There's a matter that needs taking care of in Prague and I believe you're just the man for the job. If you complete your assignment satisfactorily, you will be awarded Double-0 status." 

She holds out a buff file and he takes it from her. "Thank you, ma'am." 

She gives him a nod that's clearly intended as a dismissal, but he stubbornly remains in his seat. "Is that it?" 

She gives him a surprised look. "I'm not sure I understand you, Mr Bond," she says. Her tone is chilly, formal, and dismissive. 

"Moscow, 1985," he says, watching her face closely.

"I will say this once and once only, Mr Bond. What happened in Russia, stays in Russia. I do not expect you to refer to the matter again, understand?" He glares, but she glares back, her expression implacable. "Mr Bond?"

"Yes, ma'am." He speaks through gritted teeth, getting to his feet. "Ma'am." He turns on his heel and strides out, seething with anger.

Behind his back, M turns her chair around to stare out across the London landscape and does her best to harden her heart. She has no regrets about her previous fleeting relationship with James Bond because regrets are unprofessional, but she knows that she must not allow it to colour her judgement about him. There's no going back, not least because she's married now, but also because she's his boss, so their relationship must be strictly professional from this point onwards. It won't be easy, but on the other hand, her working life never has been easy, so in many respects, this is nothing new. She will endure, she always has, and always will.


End file.
